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| Three Headed Clover's Poetry Pages |
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| Read more by Cowboy Junkie at PoetsPlanet |
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| The Great Empath, Three Headed Clover is seeking information leading to the whereabouts of Three Headed Sarahs. Reward may be offered for information. |
| Three Headed Sarahs have been seen in this city, London. Click here to visit London |
| "Blue shadows of earth--swirling jaded face.." by Cowboy Junkie |
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| Hot Rod Nights When I was but a gangly girl,, All legs and tears and heartbreak, I'd lie on my bed in the summer night, Listening to hot rods race up and down the road. I'd watch the headlights throw eerie shadows Against my bedroom wall. I'd listen for the creak of feet, Walking down the silent hall. I followed the pattern the high beams made, Flashing in the mirror on my tiny room's wall, I'd hold my breath knowing the wheels would soar, Then I'd listen for the throttles to fall I'd feel hair stand up on my slender arms, As the engines began to roar. Back then I knew so little, Could not imagine all the mistakes I'd make, Things back then were simple, Nothing left to chance or fate. Sometimes when I listen close, I can still hear the engines whine. I remember all the truths I knew, Without ever being told. Sometimes the brakes just wouldn't work, Or the engine would simply stall, Lying there in the summer darkness, I knew the answers to it all. |
| Gifts Never given music; only given words, Songs that play inside of me; others never heard. Standing in the shadown; waiting for the light, Playing in the darkness; listening way past night. Let the floodgates open; let the rivers roll, Washingout the sorrows; flooding out my soul. Fragments of the future; slivers of the past, Running past my doorstep; racing much too fast. Listen to the gurgles; hear the train wheels whine. Pushing past the sentries, knocking down the steel. Standing by the arsenal, Putting out the fire. Weapons we picked up; treasures I put down. Lightning chasing rainbows, riding out the storm. Feel the pulsing thunder; taste the wind, new-born. Running after sunshine, catching the burning night Raise my fist against it; jumping to my feet. Set my face toward morning, I will once again be free. To touch the liquid daylight, then taste the acrid fire, To soar out on the updrafts, as I set the music free. |
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| Battle Mountains--Layered indigo, purple, Hazy against the backdrop of a pale blue sky. Trees leaning away. Trying to escape the bad breath of a bitter wind. Ripples skittering across the muddy water. A lake gone mad with the whistling of the biting storm. Forces lock and engage in a mounting battle. Old Man Winter is trying to beat back Gentle Spring. |
| "ah the deep pineywoods with a chevrolet 4wd..." by TA Thompson |
| "crusing down deese dirt roads my fore wheel drive pickimup truck shotgun in the rac winders down, tape plays a little Hank Jr. a six pack of Lone Star on the floor cool, not iced a bag of pork skeens, empty dis is true luv." by TA Thompson |
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| To Erotica |
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| haiku perched atop the post, hungry scavengers survey dinner on the ground. |
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haiku Clouds of twirling dust gallop across the prairie. Buffalo returns. |